


Rainy Day Blues

by illfit



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Repressed Memories, Some Fluff, Violence, it's neither graphic nor minor but it's still there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 03:08:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6177775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illfit/pseuds/illfit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's never anyone's fault. Sometimes, things are just hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rainy Day Blues

**Author's Note:**

> i had a better title for this, i swear.
> 
> i just... kinda forgot it....... yeah............
> 
> enjoy :)

Wade may be practically immortal, insusceptible to any type of physical harm, but when it comes to anything mental, he is weak. He's usually able to keep things under control, keep the memories and bad thoughts from clawing their way back up his throat and continue functioning as any other normal human being. The Boxes help, too, keeping his mind off his inner turmoil and on whatever task is at hand. They're the most effective while he's fighting, providing humor and a sort of comic relief from his job, but there are times when he isn't fighting - or doing much of anything, really - and even the Boxes can't help from his inevitable mental shutdown. These days are rare, coming maybe every once or twice in a blue moon, but they're never easy, and they always leave him drained for a good week after it hits.

It never matters what is going on that day, what happened the day before, whether Wade slept a complete nine hours that night, if he remembered milk at the store or decided it wasn't needed. The weather is usually familiar - sometimes it's a sunny day, sometimes it's snowy; more often than not, though, it's raining, just like today.

Wade doesn't even get out of bed. He curls up under the blankets, watching water droplets collect on the windowpane and waiting for something, _anything_ to snap him out of this. But the apartment is silent. The Boxes are silent. The only thing making noise is the soft drum of the rain outside.

His stomach rumbles, and he contemplates getting up. He has to take care of himself, as much as he doesn't want to, no matter what memories claw at the back of his head.

But there's really no reason. He has nowhere to be, no one expecting him, no one wanting him. He's alone - always has been, always will be. Somewhere, deep in the archives of his brain, he knows Peter is right there next to him, two inches away, but his thoughts a fogged and everything is blurring together.

' _There's no point_ ,' he tells himself, closing his eyes when his stomach makes another half-hearted grumble.

He doesn't want to fall asleep, nightmares are almost always a certainty when he's in this state, but the physical world is so at peace that he can't help but drift away.

He soon wishes he hadn't.

* * *

It's dark, pitch black. There's a flash of light that breaks through it, quicker than a lightning bolt as it zooms across his vision and leaves blurry spots behind, then it's dark again. And then another flash, darkness following right on it's heels like some game of cat and mouse. More light, a longer streak this time, but followed by a longer period of darkness. Two streaks of light pass consecutively, darkness, and more light, slowly speeding up. More and more light floods into his field of vision, each passing streak lasting longer than the previous. The darkness recedes, streaks of light steadily increase in number until all he can see it a bright, white light, nearly blinding him. He squints to protect his eyes, and sees something - blurry, but there. He stares at it until it focuses, and a picture erupts before him.

It's his... childhood home? Everything is just as he remembers - old, creaking kitchen table, wore-down couch, peeling wallpaper, intimidating father looming over a child version of himself.

"I told you to clean up your shit!" He bellows, voice just as deep and terrifying as back then. His face is just as red and sweaty, as it always was when he yelled.

"I-I'm sorry-" Wade stutters, his own mouth somehow moving the same way as the child's.

"Sorry doesn't do the fucking chores! Get your lazy ass up and clean your shit!" The child scrambles to stand and makes a move to run and go clean his mess, but he trips over his own feet, and the father lets out an exasperated laugh.

"Jesus fuck," His dad mutters, tightly grabbing the child's arm, and Wade can feel it on his own body. He can feel his father's clammy hand around his bicep, and a sharp pain in his armpit as the child is yanked to his feet. "What a fuck-up. Damn kid can't even tie his own shoes." The child looks up pleadingly at his dad, remaining deathly still.

"Tie your shoes." The father demands, but as the child picks up the laces, the dad brings down a hard hand against the side of his head and ' _faster'_ ' is yelled at him. The child can't move any faster, though, his hands are shaking and tears are threatening to spill, making his eyes blurry. The father just keeps yelling and slapping, and Wade can feel each blow as though it's actually happening to him, and soon he's lost in it. The scene falls into a loop, and Wade is trapped not only watching or feeling, but actually physically and mentally reliving the moment.

He is stuck at six years old, stuck watching his father - the same one who walks out a few years later - continuously hit him.

And then the slapping turns to backhands, then punching, and before wade can blink, his father is beating down on him, breaking his nose, his jaw, his ribs. Faintly, in the back of his foggy, terrified mind, a thought drifts through.

_This isn't right._

It isn't much, but in the midst of this nightmare-induced haze, it somehow means the world to Wade. He holds onto it, refuses to let it go until he realizes why it means so much.

_I am not six. He isn't alive._

_This isn't how it happened._

* * *

He startles awake, heart beating a million miles a minute and hands sweaty, jaw and muscles aching from being so tense. It takes a few minutes of him to gather his senses. He reassures himself, ' _It was only a nightmare_ ,' but aside from making sure he's actually in the real world, it doesn't do much beside remind him how alone he is.

It's still raining. The Boxes are still silent. He is still alone.

Until he isn't.

There's an arm across his torso, touch softened by layers of thick blankets between, but still there. It's loose. The grip is there only to comfort, not to trap in. Wade lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and relaxes a minuscule amount. Whispers drift over his shoulder; "It's okay." Wade turns slightly, not all the way onto his back, but enough to see who's behind him.

Peter is there, eyes soft and body relaxed. He tugs Wade closer, but tries to keep his arm relaxed, giving Wade total control over whether he stays or leaves. Wade stares, watching Peter intently as he's moved around, looking for hostility or an sort of ulterior motive, but he finds none. All he finds are Peter's calm eyes and relaxing touch. Eventually he gives, loosens his muscles slightly, and sees the corner of Peter's mouth tick up in a small smile.

After a few long moments, Peter finally manages to get Wade into a position they are both okay with and wraps his arms around Wade's middle, resting his forehead against the side of Wade's own. Wade continues to look at the window, watching the rain and letting it calm him further. Peter repeats, "it's okay," to him a few more times, until Wade is completely relaxed.

When Wade's stomach rumbles yet again, he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before contemplating possibilities. ' _There's no point_ ,' he repeats to himself, except there is.

Whenever things are bad, Wade always forgets Peter is there, always just there, ready in case Wade needs him. When he forgets, he feels a sense of abandonment deep in his chest he hasn't felt since he was young. It reminds him of all the horrible things he's done - why things are so hard, how he's made them  _harder_ , why he deserves nothing.

But Peter _is_ here, and he thinks that maybe there _is_ a point. Some reason behind it.

A memory of the nightmare flies through his mind and completely shoots that thought down. He opens his eyes again and starts to count the water droplets on the windowpane. At the fifty-sixth, he's interrupted by Peter's voice

"Are you going to do anything about your stomach?" He asks softly, and Wade doesn't respond. "Would you like me to get you some toast? Cereal?"

Peter's shoulders sag when he's ignored, but he gets up to make two slices of toast so Wade doesn't get too hungry. Was moves into a sitting position when his boyfriend leaves, holding his head in his hands and trying to quell his spinning brain. He's thinking both too much and not at all, switching between five-second periods of anarchy, his thoughts on fire and going a mile a minute, only to be stopped short by unlimited silence, rolling in by waves. 

Peter, thankfully, returns jut a few minutes later, two slices of toasted bread with jelly on a small plate. He sets it down in Wade's lap, who tires to give him a thankful smile, but it appears more like him grimacing.

Peter knows well enough the sincerity behind it. Throughout their four-year relationship, he's endured four or five of these days with Wade. He says he doesn't mind, but Wade knows that's total bullshit. It's a whiplash start; no warning signs or cautioning that says one of these days coming, and Wade turns into a completely different person - his usual cocky, sarcastic attitude is completely replace, making him depressive, anxious, and, at rare times, suicidal . It only takes about five to six days for him to get over it, but Peter always insists on staying the entire time. It takes just as much of a toll on Peter as it does Wade, and they both know that, but Peter always remains. Wade knows it's hard enough to be in a relationship with him, these 'episodes' really are just like garlic on a shitpile, and all he ever wonders is why Peter continues seeing their relationship as an ice-cream sundae.

"I love you," Peter whispers as Wade nibbles on one of the slices. He wraps his arms around Wade's waist, resting his head on Wade's shoulder. "Stop thinking I don't."

"I wasn't-"

"You were. I know the face you make when it happens. I love you, believe me." Peter presses a kiss to Wade's cheek. "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love-"

Wade interrupts his boyfriend by shoving some of the toast in his mouth. It's strange to feel the heat spreading under the scars on his ears and neck, as he's usually the one to be doing lovey-dovey stuff like that, and Peter's the one that's a blushing mess. It pulls a smile out of him nevertheless, and Peter grins back after chewing his bite of bread. They sit for a moment in silence when Wade asks in a quiet and croaky voice,

"Can you talk?"

"What do you mean?"

"Um," Wade ignores his boyfriend's inquisiive look and keeps going, "Can you just... talk? About anything? It just helps me... calm down, I guess." His ears and neck inflame even more, but Peter just gives him a soft smile and traces patterns on Wade's back as he delves into a completely unremarkable story about developing a roll of film with one of his colleagues. Wade listens somewhat vacantly, thinking about separate things. His mind doesn't race as much when Peter talks, and there are less gaps of silence to fills. It levels him out, in a way. He'll thank Peter one day, he will, but for now, he listens.


End file.
